It has become something of a cliché to say that faith is not just intellectual but embodied, not just words and ideas but experience and practice. At no time of the year is this clearer than Holy Week. We wave palm branches. We wash one another’s feet. We stay up to keep vigil. We act out the passion and kiss the cross.
A poor person looking up at my residence could mistake it for one of the barns belonging to the rich man Jesus talked about—the one who didn't know his soul was buried beneath all that corn and sorghum.
McMinn, a sociologist and co-owner of a small farm, presumes a certain level of privilege among her readers: choose heirloom seeds; eat only fair trade chocolate; avoid plastic food containers; and buy eggs “from a local source, if possible, and/or from chickens raised outside eating grass and bugs.” Still, this book is an enticing reflection on the sacramental nature of preparing and eating meals.
Søren Kierkegaard, 19th-century Danish philosopher, would not be impressed with our busyness today. “Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me to be busy—to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work . . . What, I wonder, do these busy folks get done?” Stephen Evans, Baylor University philosopher, says Kierkegaard saw busyness as a distraction from the really important questions of life, such as who we are and what life is for (Quartz, April 16).